Welcome to Gotland
by Viginti Duo
Summary: Quistis is depressed.  Her marriage is not going well, she hates her red hair, she hates that stupid house and she can't even make a proper souffle.  Wait, what?
1. Prologue

**DISCLAIMER:** I don't own any of the characters or the universe they're based upon. In short, if it's familiar, it's not mine.

**A/N:** Welcome to my little pet project! If you're reading my other fic, Et in Arcadia Ego, you might notice some very similar elements between the two stories and there's a very good reason for that:

This is an old, ooooold subplot from Arcadia. The two stories are now completely different and separate, but they still share the Guardian Force theme. This is a rejected subplot, not because I didn't like it, but because I decided it didn't fit with the story. In fact, I liked it so much that it became a fic of its own.

It is heavily influenced by two sources:_ Paycheck_, a short story by one Philip K. Dick, my favorite author (the movie sucks, but the original is a hundred times better), and the movie _'Mr. and Mrs. Smith' _though the plot is not entirely similar to either of them. I just borrowed a few themes and ideas from both. No copyright infringement intended there, either.

One final note: Though this may look like an AU story, I assure you, it's not. Just give it time and you'll see how and why things came to be the way they are.

Enjoy!

* * *

**Prologue**

**

* * *

**

_"Someday, Jennings, we're going to break out. You see, conditions like this can't go on. _

_People can't live this way, tossed back and forth by political and economic powers. _

_Masses of people shoved this way and that according to the needs of this government or that cartel. There's going to be resistance, someday. A strong, desperate resistance."_

– _**Rethrick, 'Paycheck' by Philip K. Dick (1953)**_

_**

* * *

**_

All at once she was in motion. Around her smooth jets hummed. She was on a small SeeD aircraft, moving leisurely across the afternoon sky.

Quistis groaned, curling up into a tiny little ball underneath her blanket. "How long?" she croaked.

"Nearly half an hour," Selphie replied, chuckling. "Welcome back."

Quistis stared at the view outside the window, feeling like her head was going to split in half. "Mission successful?" she asked.

"As always. When did you black out?" Selphie asked.

She had no idea. If that idiot Pax hadn't jumped the gun and entered the room before thinking, she might've been conscious for the entire duration of the mission. _Falling for a trip wire, honestly,_ she thought. She barely had time to pull him away from the door and the blast caught them both. She remembered soaring for a few feet backwards, then hitting a wall and everything went black.

"After the explosion," Quistis said. "How's Pax?" she asked, scowling.

"Recovering in the back," Selphie said, pointing at the back cabin with her thumb. "He said he was sorry."

"Yeah, well-" Quistis began, but suddenly stopped, realizing something. "It's afternoon? It's _afternoon_!" she yelped, and jumped off her seat.

A small wave of dizziness overtook her, but she shook it off and went for her duffel bag, yanking out clothes in a hurry. Selphie didn't have to ask what he friend was looking for, and instead of asking questions, she helped her look.

Quistis pulled out a pair of pantyhose, a black pencil skirt and a pair of black heels. "Shirt... I need my white shirt..."

"Start getting dressed, I'll look for it," Selphie said, continuing to rummage through Quistis's bag.

Quistis undressed in lightning speed and began to pull on the clothes, her mind racing. What if he was home already? No, he couldn't be. He said he would be running late for the whole week, including Friday. She had time, it wasn't dark out yet.

"Do I have any marks on me?" she asked Selphie, checking her skin. No blemishes, no scratches... Good Hyne, how many Cure spells had they poured into her system? It was a miracle she wasn't high as a kite.

"I checked, don't worry," Selphie said, and finally re-emerged holding a white shirt. "That it?"

"Yes, that's the one," Quistis said, sighing in relief. For a moment there, she thought she might've forgotten to bring it along.

Selphie helped her put it on, smoothing the creases on the back and helping her tuck it into her skirt. She pulled a few bobby pins out of her pocket just as Quistis was twisting her hair into a bun. "Let me," she said.

"Thanks," Quistis said, closing her eyes and allowing herself to relax under her friend's ministrations. Selphie had helped her do this countless times, so by now, they had the process down to a T.

"Am I showing?" Quistis asked, touching the roots of her red hair. "I haven't had a chance to visit the hairdresser's in forever."

"He _still_ hasn't noticed you're a natural blonde?" Selphie said, chuckling.

Bypassing the comment, Quistis asked her again. "Selphie?"

"Ohhhhh, I see... You book an Esthari wax along with every dye-job-?"

"Selphie!"

"You're fine," Selphie assured her, and took a step back to admire her handiwork. "Aren't you running a little late, though? It's nearly six."

"I can afford to be late," Quistis said, checking her reflection on the mirror Selphie handed her. The bun looked perfect. "He hasn't been coming home before ten for a week. Big project at work," she explained.

"Skyscraper? Hospital?"

"I haven't the faintest idea..." Quistis said, cringing. It seemed like an important thing to know. She definitely should find out. "I did see some of his designs the other day; looked a bit like a museum."

Selphie gave her the one-over, making sure everything was done. "Hair, good. Outfit, good. Ring?"

_For crying out loud, nearly forgot the most important part. _"Ring, yes!" Quistis said, dipping her hand into her cleavage and pulling out the platinum band that hung there from a slim golden chain. "Thank you!" she said, slipping it on.

"Don't sweat it," Selphie said, grinning. "Get back to your seat, we're about to land."

* * *

The aircraft landed on a small, private airport in the outskirts of Deling City, where her car was already waiting. Quistis stumbled inside, waved at Selphie goodbye –"Say hi to the stud for me!"- and turned the key in the ignition of the sleek silver SUV.

_Don't be home yet, don't be home yet._

After nearly crashing twice, she decided to forgo putting her make-up on while driving. She would just have to do it once she got there, she thought, and stepped on the gas, hurrying home.

Thankfully, there was no traffic on the way there. She sped along the highway, only relaxing when she saw the familiar green sign reading _Welcome to Gotland!_ The quiet suburb was among Deling City's most beautiful and elegant ones, a perfect place to raise a family.

Though the community was large for suburb standards, the residents knew each other well and Quistis waved at everyone who caught her eye as she drove through the neighborhood.

She held her breath and made the turn, arriving at 34 Main Street, her address. Hers was the home second on the left, a beautiful, imposing house designed by her husband and decorated by her. Or rather, the particularly expensive decorator she had paid. Like every other house around it, it had a sprawling green lawn, hedges trimmed to perfection, and a spacious driveway.

And right there on that very driveway, Quistis saw her husband's black sedan. He was home.

_Damn,_ she cursed inwardly. _Damn, damn, damn!_

Resigned to her fate, Quistis quickly adjusted her make up and parked the car in the garage, hoping he wouldn't find it too weird that she had come home a little later than expected. Usually, she was there by five and right now it was 6:20.

Checking her reflection on the rear-view mirror, Quistis stepped outside and locked the car, taking slow steps toward the door. _Be calm... He probably doesn't even think it's weird. So you were late for once, big deal._

Taking in a deep breath, she took her keys out of her handbag and was about to unlock the door, when it swung open. Her husband was standing under the threshold, smiling at her.

"Welcome home, Mrs. Almasy," he said, and pulled her in for a kiss.

_Oh, thank Hyne._ Quistis wrapped her arms around him and returned the kiss, thanking every deity who would listen that he hadn't suspected a thing.

"It's good to be home," she said once she pulled away, and tenderly ran a hand through his jet black hair.

* * *

**A/N: **The very first paragraph is taken almost verbatim from Paycheck, as a tribute to the story I drew inspiration from. Gotland is an actual place in the FF8 world; it's the peninsula on the left of Deling City.


	2. Chapter 1: The Galbadian Dream

**DISCLAIMER:** Not mine, Square's.

**A/N:** I toyed with the idea of giving them a dog or a cat. For reasons I cannot disclose right now, I decided against it, but for the record, I had settled on a cat and Seifer wanted to call him 'Phil.' Quistis disapproved.

The 'Jenningses' are a reference to Jennings, the protagonist of _Payckeck_.

Enjoy!

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**Chapter One: **The Galbadian Dream

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_"I see trees of green, red roses, too.  
I see them bloom for me and you.  
And I think to myself: what a wonderful world."_

_**- Louis Armstrong, 'What a Wonderful World'**_

_**

* * *

**_

Quistis woke up to the chirp of a bird's song.

She opened her eyes slowly, squinting at the brilliant daylight that streamed through the window. It was a gorgeous Saturday morning; clear blue sky, not a cloud in sight. Outside, the children of the neighborhood were playing, basking in the sun and filling the streets with the sound of their laughter and games.

Getting up from the bed slowly, she stretched and glanced at the sleeping form of her husband. He was a heavy sleeper, giving her the chance to slip out of bed unnoticed and go about her daily routine without waking him up. By the time he came downstairs every morning, Quistis had already taken her jog, a shower, and had had time to prepare a feast of a breakfast to sate his voracious appetite.

They ate together, commenting on the more interesting articles of the newspaper and then went on to plan their day. Weekends were mostly reserved for little chores around the house that couldn't be performed during the week; trim the lawn, refresh the paint-job on the fence if needed, answer their mail. Seifer would some times work on his pet project, a vintage motorcycle he had been fine-tuning and restoring for the past two years, and Quistis would usually spend that time on her beauty regiment. She considered it a duty, rather than a chore, to always look her best for her husband.

_Always,_ she thought ruefully, as she slipped her white silk robe on.

On the bed, Seifer gave a snore and rolled over, hugging the pillow she had just abandoned. For a split second, Quistis wanted to smother him with it. Okay, maybe it was more than a second.

Sighing, she made her way toward the bathroom to wash up and brush her teeth. The quicker she went about her daily routine, the quicker she could find a little spare time to relax before she had to turn into Quistis Almasy, art restorer for the Deling City Museum.

For now, she could simply be Quistis Trepe.

* * *

Seifer Almasy's morning routine was pretty standard, with small variations here and there depending on his mood. There was, however, in the equation that was his day, one constant:

He always woke up with a groan.

Today, in particular, he felt like staying in bed and do nothing but stare at the ceiling all day long. But that was not an option. Not when his gorgeous, intelligent, _amazing_ wife was waiting for him downstairs.

She would be sitting at the table, her lush red hair worn not in her usual bun, but loose, her make-up impeccable and she would greet him with a beautiful smile and a kiss. She would have had an already highly productive morning: she would have already jogged, showered, scrubbed every surface of the house clean, discovered warp speed for all he knew, and she would still look perfect.

_Perfect,_ he thought, feeling the sudden urge to scream. She really was perfect. Not a stray hair, not a fleck of make-up looking misplaced, never raising her voice or being anything other than a sublime hostess and wife. _Never_.

If he hadn't witnessed her accidentally trip and hurt her knee a few months ago, he would be certain she was a Hynedamned robot. But she had bled that day, and to be perfectly honest, he had been disappointed. Having married an android would have been twisted in an awesome kind of way, and it could all end with an epic decapitation, but realizing he was married to a human being who was truly _that_ flawless made his blood curdle. The only time he could recall that she had ever made a mistake in the three years they knew each other was that very day. Her big, huge, giant flaw was that she had once _tripped_. And even then, it had been a neighbor's dog who had startled her and got in her way.

_Three years,_ he thought. _Three years I've spent with her, two of them married-_

He came to a stop, eyes bulging. Two years? Rolling to the side, he reached over to the nightstand for his cell phone and checked the calendar. He was right; next week was their two-year wedding anniversary.

_Fuuuuuuuuuuck,_ he thought, groaning. There was no chance in hell Quistis would have forgotten, which meant that today they would be planning an event of some sort for the following Sunday. And he needed to buy her a gift.

He got up, even more irritable than usual, and tried to cheer himself up by thinking of all the little ways he could ruin _her_ day. _Maybe I won't use a coaster,_ he thought. _It'll kill her. Or use the salad fork for the steak at dinner._

His stomach protested at the thought of food, and at once, his mood brightened a little bit. If nothing else, she was an amazing cook –_of course she is-_ and the breakfast she prepared for him was always the highlight of his morning.

He decided to focus on the one good thing awaiting him downstairs as he showered and changed into a pair of comfortable black sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt. He entertained the idea of going barefoot and give her a stroke, but as a small 'Thank you' for the effort she put into her cooking, he decided to put his slippers on and made his way down the stairs.

As expected, she was there, a vision of perfection, writing something down on a notepad. When she heard him approach, she looked up and gave him a beaming smile.

_Here we go,_ he thought, and returned it, slipping effortlessly –but not painlessly- into the role of Seifer Almasy, successful architect.

Quistis removed her reading glasses –_Does that count as a flaw? Hmmmm- _and got up from her seat. She put her arms around him and gave him a chaste peck on the lips. "Good morning," she said sweetly.

_Die in a fire._ "Good morning, love," he said, running a hand through her fine red hair. "Slept well?"

"Like a bird," she said, and took him by the hand to guide him to the table.

He took his seat across her and immediately dug in. Aside from the good meal, he now had an excuse to shorten his replies to grunts and murmurs while he kept his mouth full. The conversation would be no doubt boring and insipid; it wouldn't make a difference what he said.

"I was thinking," Quistis began, buttering a piece of toast. "About next weekend."

"Mmmm?"

"I don't know if you remember, but our anniversary is coming up..."

_Shit, now I have to make an actual reply,_ Seifer thought. "How could I forget?" he said, grinning. He tore a piece off his cinnamon roll and tossed it playfully into his mouth. "And no, no matter how hard you search, you won't find your present anywhere in the house."

Quistis laughed; a crystalline, beautiful, perfect laugh. _Perfect, perfect, PERFECT._ "You didn't have to get me anything-"

"No, I didn't _have _to. But I wanted to," Seifer replied. _Oh yuck. Well played._

"Well," Quistis went on, a pleased grin on her full lips. "I thought that perhaps we could invite a few people over for Saturday."

"Our anniversary is on Sunday," Seifer said, arching an eyebrow. Could it be that she had remembered the date wrong? _Oh please, please, _please_ tell me she messed it up..._

"I know, but Sunday is a difficult day," she explained. "We can't expect anyone to stay past nine, ten at best, since they'll have to wake up for work on Monday. So perhaps we could organize a little something for Saturday instead?"

_Of course not. Of course you've thought this through._

"Sounds good to me," Seifer said. "I'll leave the guest list and... well... everything up to you. You're far better at this than I am."

"Oh, like last year?" Quistis said, pretending to be mad and tapping her pen against her jawline. "When I slaved over the buffet and all everyone could talk about were the cocktails you threw together in five minutes?"

"Well, _I_ had some very positive comments about your cooking, not to mention your outfit, if you recall," Seifer said, winking at her. All right, he had to admit, she did look devastating in a cocktail dress. That, he could look forward to. And the sex wasn't bad. A little vanilla and too mushy and romantic, but definitely not bad. Though definitely not great either.

Quistis looked away, blushing, and jotted something down on her notepad. "Don't pick the wines before I decide what I'm making for dinner," she said, grinning still.

"I won't," he said, and went back to his breakfast. _Because having white wine with red meat would apparently be Hyne's second fucking coming. _

_

* * *

_

"Selphie, no," Quistis hissed into the phone. "I can't make it on Saturday, and actually, neither can you."

She bit her lip, looking out the window to make sure Seifer was still in the garage and well out of earshot.

_"Why the heck not?"_

"The anniversary dinner," Quistis replied. "I've been away on _business trips _three times this month; if I cancel this he'll start to suspect something is wrong."

_"Okay, fine, I'll talk to Squall. Do I _really_ have to be there?"_

"So help me, Selphie, if you let me deal with the Jenningses and the Petersons and everyone else alone that night, you'll regret it," Quistis threatened.

_"You married the guy! You were the one who insisted on the pretty little house in the 'burbs and the one and a half inch lawn or whatever. Why should I suffer?"_

"You owe me!" Quistis growled. "I bailed you out with your last boyfriend, Selphie, or have you forgotten?"

_"All right, all right, geeeeeez. I'll be there. I'll bring a bunt cake or something."_

"Thank you," Quistis said, letting out a sigh. "Tell Squall I'm free come Monday, but next weekend is off."

_"Okay. Have you called Cid, or should I?"_

"I'll call him, don't worry."

_"Quisty... Don't take this personally, okay? I'm not trying to rile you up or get out of the dinner or anything, but can I ask you something?"_

"Yes?"

_"You don't really sound... happy. You lie to your husband about your job and your past, you're a completely different person when you're with him, you complain about the life _you_ chose to me... I know he's sweet and successful and all that, but is this really what you want?" _

Quistis had no reply to that and Selphie didn't press on; she simply sighed after a couple of seconds of silence.

_"I'll see you on Saturday then. Bye."_

Quistis terminated the call and tossed the silver cell phone on the desk. Outside, Seifer was still working on his motorcycle. She took a seat on the window ledge and watched him for a few minutes, bringing her knees up to her chest.

Why _did_ she stay in that marriage?

She was unhappy, that much was obvious. The domestic life, the pretense, the fake smiles and forced sweetness were all killing her. She wasn't a person anymore; she was a doll, a robot, a woman without feelings or opinions or a personality.

Seifer was the same.

When she'd met him three years ago, she had fallen head over heels in love, and it wasn't for his looks alone. Back then, he was different, too. Witty, charming, with a wicked sense of humor. He challenged her, made her laugh, showed her something new every day. What had happened to the man she stayed up all night with discussing their hopes and dreams, the man who didn't shy away from speaking his mind, the man who made love to her anywhere and at any time?

He wasn't a bad man, not by any stretch of the imagination. He was sweet to her, treated her like a queen and always listened. He was the embodiment of tall, dark and handsome, with dark hair and piercing green eyes; he was the kind of man girls swooned over.

But the Seifer she loved, the one she longed for, was the Seifer who had fire in him, passion for her, for life and everything he did. Not this bland, washed out version who worshiped the ground she stood on and treated her like china.

She was only twenty-two (twenty-four, as far as he knew) and already stuck in a marriage that bored her to tears.

Why?

_I don't know... I really don't know..._

_

* * *

_

"Oh, boo, another depressing day."

The Ice Maiden stretched lazily. The collective unconscious was a dull, _dull_ place. Hyne had truly slept the day imagination had been handed out to the Gods, and his sloppiness showed everywhere. From the tiny little planet he had created, down to this place, his lack of vision was glaringly obvious.

There was only a vast nothingness, where trillions of little strands representing memories unfolded before her like strings. And not a single loom in sight to play with. _Lazy, lazy, lazy._ Every string connected to the others in small junctions, making up a giant, vertigo-inducing network of grey thread.

As Shiva floated around, picking and probing at her little pet's mind for something, _anything_ of essence, she yawned. "I'm getting a little tired of it, you know," she said. "Despair? Yes. Anger? Oh, yes, yes, _yes_. But this is boring. I can't work with any of this."

"Then stop sucking the life out of her."

She turned to look at Ifrit, pouting. "Am not," she insisted. "We have an agreement. She gives me what I need, and I stay away from her precious little plan. But she promised me happy memories, not a pity party."

Ifrit smirked, curling a piece of string around his clawed finger. "And if you were a little wiser, like me, you would take your time with the good memories, not devour them at once."

Abstinence. How droll. What did he take her for, human?

"At the rate you're going," Ifrit went on. "She'll forget anything good ever happened to her. If you want happy memories, let her breathe a little. She can't be happy when she's starting to forget who she is."

"Hmph," Shiva scoffed. "Fine. I'll go easy on her. But she'd better start keeping up her end of the deal," she added, narrowing her eyes.

She picked one of the strings and tugged it, stretching it out. It didn't break, nor did it disconnect from the rest: this was a mistake only amateurs made, not someone like her, who had been playing the game for millennia.

"Or what?" Ifrit asked.

She held on to the string with thumb and forefinger, letting a long piece at the end wriggle free. They were living things, the little buggers, sometimes too stubborn to yield, but she always molded them to her liking eventually. A little coaxing, a soft croon, and they bent to her will. _Always_.

The end of the string began to unfold like a roll of parchment. The face of a young, smiling, dark-haired woman dressed in a blue duster stared back at her. Shiva grinned and let the string go. With a snap, it jerked back into place.

"Or 'the plan' gets it. And then it's bye-bye little witch. Forever."

* * *

**A/N: **The way memories and memory storage are handled in this fic will be more thoroughly explained later on. Till next time!


End file.
